


In the Shadow of the Hollywood Sign

by Orianne (morganya)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-07
Updated: 2000-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/Orianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wayne's career is taking off, and the pressure is mounting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shadow of the Hollywood Sign

Wayne was late. The meeting had run long, and the traffic was clogged. He gave half his attention to the road and half to the stack of production notes clutched in his right hand.

_Rosie O'Donnell's time slot. Gotta be big. Can't rest on my laurels. Maybe I should call Jonathan and get him to do a couple skits, maybe Cory can write something, man, what should I wear the first day of taping? Can't be too loud, the lights'll strobe..._

The person in back of Wayne honked his horn twice. Wayne put his foot on the gas and edged up.

_No good doing this here. I'll have an accident. I'd have to tape the show in a body cast with my jaw wired shut. I'll barely last two minutes on the air._

He forced himself to lay the notes down and stared straight ahead of him, trying to keep himself from thinking about work.

The dogs careened into him when he walked into the house. The notes flew out of his hand, floating to the floor like confetti. "Ahh! Bad dogs! Bad, bad dogs!"

"Hey!" Mandie shouted from the living room. "Hey! Leave Daddy alone! Come here!" The dogs raced off, probably hoping Mandie was going to feed them. Wayne picked the notes up. They had paw prints all over them. He sighed.

"We need to get these guys some obedience training," he said, going into the living room. Mandie was watching TV; she tilted her head up, smiling.

Wayne gave her a kiss. "Hi".

"Hi. How was work?"

"Long. What about you?"

"Rehearsal, rehearsal, rehearsal. My feet are killing me." Mandie gestured. "Not to mention I've got an audition for this music video on Thursday. The band calls themselves The Limp Lizards."

Wayne laughed. Mandie grinned and said, "The company won't be happy with me auditioning for a rock video. They like their dancers to be above that."

"That's my wife, the girl on MTV." Wayne put his hands on her shoulders. "What are you watching?"

" _In the Shadow of the Tiger_."

"They're replaying it? Man, they _never_ show this." Wayne leaned forward. On screen, Lucentio James, all caramel-colored skin and muscle, leaning into Venesa Hawks, saying, You never tell a man when to turn away. In two minutes, the bad guys would burst through the door, guns drawn, and Lucentio would turn his head slightly, eyes unfazed, and bring the leader down with one swift kick to the leg. "I believe we were having a private conversation."

"Man, I loved this movie when I was a kid," Wayne said.

"Wanna watch with me? You've only missed the first twenty minutes."

Wayne looked at the screen, then back at his wife, then at his paw-print-covered production notes. "Well...No, I really can't. I've got four million things to do by next week. Are you taping this? I may watch it later."

"Yep. Want me to call you for dinner?"

"I'll grab something." He realized he'd been saying the same thing every night for the past...two weeks? Three? He would come home and disappear into the study until ten or eleven at night, talking to directors and writers and producers, maybe venturing out to heat some leftover macaroni and cheese up. Wayne looked down at her. She smiled sadly.

"Think it ever settles down?" she asked.

"I don't know, babe." He kissed her forehead. "Come bother me whenever you want."

"I might do that."

Wayne headed into his office. He didn't stagger out again until after eleven; Mandie had fallen asleep in front of the television. He clicked it off and stumbled up to bed.

*****

Greg was breaking the rules and smoking in the Green Room. Wayne wasn't in a position to tell him to stop; he sat with his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor.

There was a problem with John, the director on the talk show. It was becoming more and more clear to Wayne that their ideas were at odds. John's thought for an opening skit was set in a dark alley, dancers dressed in hip-hop gear, rap music blaring. It wasn't what Wayne wanted. It was too raunchy for the time slot, but it was also too narrow. Wayne didn't want to fit into the hip-hop label. He wanted something broader than that.

Greg's voice floated into his thoughts. “Anyway, that's when the doctor told me I had three heads.”

Wayne looked up, laughing. “What?”

"Just trying to get your attention, dude.” Greg stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and tossed it into the trash. “I've been being extremely witty and charming, but it seems it's been lost on you.” He smiled.

“Aw, no.” Wayne said. This had been happening more and more often. “I'm sorry. I just can't leave that studio, you know? It's taking over my life.”

“I know the feeling. My wife sometimes has to remind me she's not a heckler.” Greg sighed. “How's that going, man?”

“Fun,” Wayne said, surprising himself with the truth. “I have about fifty thousand little things to worry about, but...Little Wayne, in charge of things. It's fun.”

“I couldn't do what you do.”

“Yeah, you could. I'm just stumbling around, trying things. You know a lot more than me.”

Greg lit another cigarette. “Think Big Brother'll get on me for this?” He tapped the pack with his index finger.

“They don't care,” Wayne said. Greg shrugged, flicking ash into his empty styrofoam coffee cup.

“You know my show bit the dirt.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Wayne had seen Rendez-View a couple of times; it wasn't the kind of thing he'd regularly tune in to.

“The producers kept telling me I wasn't lovable enough,” Greg stated. “Wanted me to take off the suit, be more vulnerable. Make me everyone's buddy.” He shrugged. “That, and they kept trying to make Ellen show more cleavage.”

“What the hell?” Wayne laughed. “Some of those guys you had on wore barely anything.”

“Yeah. It's what they think people want, man. And if it means putting you in a box, chopping off any unpalatable bits of your personality, and making you into some walking, talking appeal to the demographic, you're not supposed to bitch. I can't do it. There's only so many ways for me to whore myself.”

“I mean, but you're doing okay,” Wayne said. “You're not starving or anything.”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I've just gotten bitter in my old age. Why, it seems like yesterday when I was a starry-eyed young lad...” Greg looked away. “The show was a steady paycheck, at least. Maybe you should have come on. Appeal to the youth of America or whatever. Maybe then it would have had a chance.”

Wayne didn't answer. Rendez-View hadn't exactly been a dream guest spot; it wasn't the type of show he liked, and it was...if he was being honest, he would have said, it was cheap. He looked at Greg guiltily.

Greg crushed out his cigarette and patted Wayne's shoulder. “It's all right, buddy. It's show business, not show hang-out-with-your-pals-and-get-paid-ness. Where're the other boys, anyway?”

“Hanging out somewhere,” Wayne said, relieved. “You and Jennifer want to have dinner sometime? When everything settles?”

Greg nodded and stood up. “Just don't make me play that fuckin' Playstation of yours. Those flashing lights give me migraines.”

“Aw, man...What would you suggest we do?”

“I'd suggest something more age-appropriate, but I have no idea what that would be.”

Wayne rolled his eyes as they slowly headed out to the stage.

*****

He fought, cajoled and pleaded with John until they reached a compromise about the sketch. The hip-hop outfits were gone, so was the dark alley. In its place was a somewhat impressionistic harem setting, with Wayne reclining on cushions, watching the dancers in flowing scarves.

Wayne laid out his ideas to John over the conference table. “Nothing too poofy, just like, a dark robe, no shoes, maybe an earring or something. Not like a bathrobe, a plain robe.”

“How expensive is this going to get?” John asked. “I mean, compared to the alley scene.”

“I totaled it up,” Wayne said. “Your scene, what with the lighting changes, ten dancers, the outfits, the set, would have been about five thousand dollars for five minutes. This costs half that. And I like it more.”

“I suppose you need to keep the star happy,” John said. “You sure this setting's going to work? I mean, we saw a lot of those harem-type skits when you and I were younger, but you think it's going to appeal to a younger audience?”

“It's going to be fine.” Wayne said. “Anyway, you really want to go through the hassle of building that set, getting those designers to let us use their clothes? This is much cheaper, and it's still funny.”

"Okay, boss," John said. He bent over his notepad. "The next thing I wanted to talk to you about..."

*****

Colin was going home in a few days. Wayne figured that the best way to send him off was with a session of video car racing and junk food. Mandie was in charge of setting out the subs, he was in charge of KFC. They traded off on drinks.

“I think this is too much food,” Mandie remarked, surveying the spread.

“Yeah, but leftovers'll be good,” Wayne said. The dogs crowded around his feet, begging. “Geez, get out of here. We feed you all plenty.”

Mandie snapped her fingers at the dogs. “Out. All of you, out.” The dogs slunk away.

“How come they listen to you and not me?”

She shrugged. “I'm the enforcer. You just pretend to be.”

“Hey,” Wayne said. “I make the rules around here.” He thumped his chest, grinning.

“Sure, babe. Sure you do.”

“Hey, Mandie? When's the next time you get time off from the company?”

“Let me think. We've got a couple guest performances at UCLA, the County Museum's doing something, some high schools here and there...I don't think I'll have time to breathe for a couple of months.”

“Aw.” He turned away from the chicken and kissed the top of her head. “Maybe one of these days you can come down to the show and hang out. I could even use some muscle and make them pay you.”

Mandie cocked her head up at him. “Maybe...maybe that's not a good idea.”

Wayne almost took a step backward. He'd worked with Mandie before; they'd even brainstormed about ideas for the shows together. He thought of her as a partner, a collaborator, just as much as he thought of her as his wife. “I thought...”

She reached for his hand. “Wayne, it's not that I wouldn't like to. It's just...I can't really ride your coattails for the rest of my career, can I?”

“It wouldn't be riding my coattails. You'd be treated the same as anyone else.”

“Not if I'm only there because my husband got me the job. If I want to work with you, I can audition like anyone else.”

Wayne took his hand away. “I think you're being a little paranoid, Mandie. I don't think anyone'll care if you're married to me or not.”

“Really? Look at Tori Spelling. Everyone thinks that the only reason she got work is because of her father pulling strings for her.”

“You're not Tori Spelling.”

“Wayne...” Mandie rubbed her eyes. “Wayne, I like working with you. I liked doing _The Only Game in Town_ with you. But it's not what I want to do for the rest of my life. I've got a good place with the company, I'm going out on auditions. I'm always happy to talk about work with you. I'll help you out if I can...But I don't want to be successful just because of you.”

The doorbell rang. Neither of them moved. The dogs raced to the door, barking. Mandie shouted at them.

“I'll get it.” Wayne said.

Colin stood outside, face flushed, rolling his shoulders. “Sorry I'm late. Traffic was...lousy.”

“It's all right. Come on in.” Wayne shooed the dogs away from Colin's feet to let him come in. Colin took a deep breath.

“Oh, air conditioning. I thought I was going to melt out there. Hi, Mandie.”

“Hi, Colin,” Mandie said. She shuffled her feet awkwardly, trying to catch Wayne's eye. “I'll be upstairs if either of you need me.”

“You're not joining us?” Colin asked.

“I don't like myself when I play those things. I'll be watching TV in the safety of our bedroom.” She headed upstairs, the dogs trotting after her.

Colin looked at him. “Did I come at a bad time?”

Wayne shook his head. “We just...had a discussion. Can you help me get this downstairs?”

Colin picked up the sub platter and headed to the video game room. Wayne trailed after him with the chicken.

Colin waited until Wayne had won the third round of Rouge Trip before saying, “So what was the discussion about?”

Wayne maneuvered his Ferrari around a hairpin curve, not turning his head. “I asked her to come down to the show and hang out. She doesn't want to.”

“Oh.” Colin's Jaguar was stuck in a lake. It spun around aimlessly, fighting to get back on the road.

“It's not worth fighting about,” Wayne said. “If she doesn't want to...I mean, how pathetic can it be, your own wife won't work with you?”

Colin managed to get back on the road. He was trailing, but he wasn't hitting anything. “You know, Deb's an actress.”

“Yeah.”

“We never really had that discussion.” Colin considered his next statement carefully. “When you work in the same business with someone, it gets tricky.”

“You guys never had a problem with it, though.”

“No.” The Jaguar spun off the road again. Colin cursed under his breath. “I get recognized a lot more than she does these days, especially back home. She works, but you don't see her on TV making goofy faces all the time. It's...” He trailed off.

The game was over, but Wayne kept the controller in his hands, not pressing a button. “It's what?”

“I was going to say that it's not really fair. I know how good Deb is. She could be great on Whose Line. I don't know why it didn't work out for her the way it has for me.”

“I guess that happens sometimes.”

“She's never mentioned it. I still think about it sometimes.” Colin shrugged. “We both decided a long time ago that getting wrapped up in each other's careers would be a mistake, considering, y'know, we might someday be in a position where we needed to compete with each other. We knew this couple, when we were living in LA, who wound up...They split up a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Wayne said. “Wow.”

Colin put his controller away. “It's just something you learn to live with. You've got an elephant in your living room, what do you do? Work around it.”

“Yeah.” Wayne began gathering up the remains of the food.

After Colin had left, Wayne made his way up to the bedroom. Mandie was sitting on the bed, a script in her hand. She stopped studying it and looked up at him.

He sat down and put an arm around her shoulders, squeezing it reassuringly. She patted his hand.

“You can do whatever you want to do,” he said. “I just miss you sometimes, that's all.”

“I miss you too. But at least I get to look forward to coming home to you.”

Sometimes he and Mandie didn't see each other for days at a time. Wayne didn't mention that.

“I love you, babe,” Mandie said.

“I love you, too.”

*****

“You're spreading yourself too thin,” Martin, his agent, said over the phone. “Tours, the talk show, Whose Line, and now you're talking about recording an album? Publicity's working overtime on you as it is.”

“It'll be during the hiatus,” Wayne protested, tapping the steering wheel for emphasis. He was itching to get out of the parking lot and drive home. His cell phone had rung before he'd gotten the chance to put the key in the ignition. He continued, “I can shift things around so that nothing conflicts. Anyway, you're my agent, shouldn't you be telling me to get myself out there?”

"But not at once. Are you trying to be the next Lucentio James?"

Wayne took a deep breath. There was a Lucentio CD lying next to him in the passenger seat now, _Off Screen_ , the CD Lucentio had recorded between filming _Taurus_ and _Dark Ashes_. It had been stowed in the glove compartment; he'd only come across it by accident. It hadn't exactly made him decide he wanted to make an album, it had only reignited an old interest. “I'm not trying to be the next anything. I'm trying to be me.”

“Don't give me that, Wayne.”

“Give you what?” He tried to think of a way to give Martin off the subject. He hated confrontation. His grandmother had raised him to always try to reason with people. “I always told you I wanted to do different things.”

“I know, I know.” Martin's voice suddenly became soothing. “You've got time to do what you want. Tape the show, do Whose Line, do the tour. That's a lot, Wayne. When was the last time you had some time off?”

“Man, I can take a vacation any day. I can tape Whose Line on the weekends, and work on a demo after I tape my show. I can always arrange things so I won't be recording at the same time I'm taping...”

“That's not the point, Wayne. I'm your agent. I want to see you working. But I don't want to deal with a thirty year old burnout. Would it be so hard to put the album idea aside for now?”

It was easier to agree. Martin didn't know everything. Wayne knew he could find a way to get around the rules. “Okay, _Mom_.”

“Don't 'Mom' me. I'm just trying to stop you from reinventing the wheel before you're ready. Okay.” Martin suddenly shifted into business mode. “When you get time, stop by the office. There's a premiere of the new Chris Tucker vehicle next week, I think you and Mandie should make an appearance.”

Wayne relaxed. Premieres had become second nature to him. He and Mandie put on nice clothes, smiled at the cameras, and schmoozed. “I thought I was just at the Chris Tucker thing.”

“No, that was Harrison Ford. This is new.”

“I should run over some stuff to say to the press, just in case,” Wayne said. “What's it about?”

“Ahhh. Look, my four o'clock just showed up. I'll tell you about it when you show up. Mandie's invited too. Did I mention that?”

“Yeah, you did. I'll see you in an hour.” Wayne hung up. He popped the Lucentio CD into the player and turned the car on.

*****

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Wayne asked Ryan. He pulled off his sweaty undershirt and put it into the bag. Ryan had already gotten out of his stage clothes. He leaned awkwardly in the doorway of the Improv backstage, adjusting his baseball hat.

Wayne didn't go to the Improv that often anymore, but once in a while, he liked to do the Thursday night show just for the nostalgia factor. Chip and Jeff were waiting outside for him; they were going to grab some food and give Jeff pointers on being 'the new guy.' Greg had already gone home, and Ryan had begged off on going out.

“Plans? Same as usual. Go back to the house, have a few scotches, watch TV.” Ryan shrugged. “Just like being a bachelor again, but without dates. What are you doing?”

“Mandie and I have to go to this premiere tomorrow...Then we're having a couple people over on Sunday...And I've got to tape some commercials for the show. This is what my life's become.” Wayne grinned. “Just like really being in Hollywood.”

Ryan shook his head and hissed. “How can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That grind, man. Don't you just want to say, 'Fuck it, I'm going to dinner?'”

“Why? It's great.”

“I never could stand it. At least now I'm at the point where I don't have to do much of that shit any more.” Ryan considered for a minute. “Nah, actually, I was okay with it when I was your age. Then you get older, you know...”

“Well, look at where all that hustling got you,” Wayne said. “I mean, Liberace's house, man.”

“Oh, yeah. A big fuckin' piano-shaped pool I never use and a lot of pink carpeting. The kids won't even go upstairs because of all the weird noises at night...Part of the reason I made them go home to Washington. I mean, you can't tell your daughter, 'Go upstairs to the haunted part of the house, honey!' It's not exactly how I imagined I'd live when I got...okay, famous, let's call it famous.”

Wayne didn't know what to say. He fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

Ryan straightened, stretching his arms gingerly. He was getting stiffer and stiffer after shows, Wayne noticed; he'd stopped doing a lot of the more physical comedy, but even so, his back tended to get irritable afterwards. Wayne would sometimes catch him and Colin commiserating together, passing a bottle of Aleve back and forth.

“All I really want to do, now,” Ryan said, “is make enough money so I can go home to my family. If I could just get out of this fuckin' town completely...” He shrugged. “I'm gonna drink three scotches tonight.”

“Bye, man,” Wayne said. “Take care, okay?”

“Don't I always?” Ryan shambled out the door, and Wayne went to join Chip and Jeff.

*****

“Honey?” Wayne called, hurrying into the house and shooing the dogs away from him. “Mandie? You here?” He searched downstairs, calling her name, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. The premiere was in five hours, the limo was scheduled to pick them up in four hours; he needed to give her warning so she could have time to get ready.

He found her in the bedroom, fast asleep. There were dark circles under her eyes.

She sat up with a start when he shut the door. “Oh, wow, Wayne. Did I miss the car? I can get ready, let me...” She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“No, no, no,” Wayne said. He sat down, touching her back. He could feel the knots in her muscles. “Are you okay? Did something happen with the show?”

“That damn show...I hate having performances in the morning. I was up all night going over my steps, and then two straight hours of dancing in front of a hundred college kids. I just came home and collapsed.”

“Aw, honey...” He put his arms around her. “You stay home tonight. I've got to do this thing, but I'll try to be back early.”

“Wayne, I should go with you. It doesn't look good if you're there by yourself. I'm not that tired.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I'm _not_ ,” Mandie said defensively. “Anyway, it'll be fun.”

“Okay.” Wayne got up and poked around in the closet. “Why don't you wear these shoes? The ones with the six-inch heel?”

She winced. Wayne grinned triumphantly at her.

“I can't just beg off, Wayne...”

“Yes, you can.” He sat back down. “Want me to bring something home? Chocolate?”

“Mmm. No, I want to come.”

“Chocolate bread pudding from Épicerie?”

“Uhhh...”

“Okay. Go back to sleep.”

“You better bring that back with you, or I'll do...something...” Her eyes began to close. Wayne grabbed his suit and left the room.

When he got into the limo, he revised the speech he'd been planning to give to the paparazzi. His wife was home, she'd been working nonstop, as had he, they were both having fun, his show was coming out in the summer...He ran it over in his head until it sounded natural.

It was still a thrill to Wayne to get out of a limousine and see a throng of people gathered around, waving at him. It made him feel younger than he was, an eight-year-old kid in a man's suit, staring at the famous people around him, still unsure if he belonged there or not.

What wasn't such a thrill was the after-show party and the hours of schmoozing that always followed a premiere. The movie had been okay; there had been a good number of car chases, but it wasn't anything memorable. But Wayne was still in the position of smiling and saying nice things about it to people who might, someday, want to hire him for a job.

After two straight hours of smiling, exaggerating, and generally sucking up, Wayne needed to retreat. He headed into the bar, which seemed largely empty.

_Must be getting old_ , he thought to himself. _I could have done this twice as long if I was still in my twenties._ He sat down at the bar and ordered a Coke.

“Not a drinkin' man, are ya?” The voice was raspy and half-ruined. Wayne looked up, startled.

An old man sat by himself at the end of the bar, holding a tumbler of scotch. His suit was obviously several years old and several sizes too big; it dwarfed him.

“Oh,” Wayne said. “No, not really. I don't like the taste. Hello.”

The old man looked at him. His muddy-colored skin was pulled too tight across his face; Wayne thought that if Greg were here, he would have used the word 'ravaged' to describe the old man.

The half-ruined voice issued itself again. “You must not have been here too long. I never liked the taste of this stuff much myself.” He drained the tumbler and signaled the bartender for another.

Something about the gesture was familiar to Wayne. It took a second to place it: Lucentio in Twilight Rider, waving his hand for another shot of whiskey. Wayne said, “Oh, my God, you're Lucentio James.”

The old man half-smiled. “I was.” He accepted the new scotch.

“Oh, wow.” Wayne was almost gasping. He could feel himself going into geek mode. He began babbling. “My wife will kill herself when she finds out you were here. We watch your movies all the time. I own all your albums..."

“Wife?” Lucentio asked. Wayne thought he detected a slight hint of mockery in his eyes.

“Yeah. She wanted to come tonight, but she's a dancer...An actress and a dancer, I should say, and she just couldn't come...”

“Dancer, huh?” Lucentio looked into his scotch. “My third wife was a dancer. Wait...no, it wasn't her, it was the fourth, or was it...?” He shook his head. “They all run together after a while,” he told the scotch.

“So did you like the movie?” Wayne asked, a little desperately.

“No.” Lucentio still hadn't looked up from his drink. His voice was now barely audible. Wayne had to lean over to hear him. “They still invite me places. I don't want 'em. My grandson's idea, bringin' me here. Get the old man out of the home for a few hours, make 'im remember the old stories. All stories are old, boy.” His head snapped up. “All stories are old and they end the same way: you're dust, boy, and you got your memories, but they don't feel so good in memory, no, they don't...”

“Grandpa!” A young coffee-colored man hurried into the bar. “Grandpa, I asked you not to drink tonight. Please, Grandpa, if I bring you back and you're drunk, the nurses won't let me take you out again. Come on.” He put his arm around Lucentio's skinny shoulders, helping him off the stool. The young man looked at Wayne. “I'm sorry. He does this sometimes...”

“It's okay,” Wayne whispered.

Lucentio looked at Wayne over his shoulder, as the young man led him away. His eyes were tired and watery. “Thirty years ago, I was just like you, boy. I used to be just like you.”

After they were gone, Wayne sat at the bar for a long time, looking into his glass.

He didn't speak to the limo driver all the way home. He got in the door to his house, gave the dogs a perfunctory stroke hello, and went up to the bedroom.

The room was dark. He stripped to his shorts and crawled into bed, feeling Mandie stir beside him. She rolled over, stroking his chest.

“Hello,” she said, voice heavy and barely awake.

“I forgot the dessert," Wayne said. "I'm sorry.”

“'S'okay. How was it?”

“Mandie?”

“Yeah?”

“Mandie, you'll kick my ass if I ever change, right?” Wayne asked. “Won't you?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Love you, babe,” she murmured, fading back into sleep. “Sleep well.”

Wayne stared up at the ceiling, his arms curled tightly around his wife, and even when the sunlight began to filter through the window, he did not shut his eyes.


End file.
